There Is Longing In The Sea
by illyria-pffyffin
Summary: On the anniversary of Frodo's departure to the Undying Lands, Merry went to the Grey Havens and met someone he did not expect.


**There Is Longing In The Sea**  
  
Empty.  
  
Everything else is the same. The trees, shedding slivers of gold and copper. The row of stone piers. The arched corridors, supported by tall pillars carved into the likeness of slim, stately trees. The empty windows of the elven dwellings on either side of the firth. The row of white stone piers. Water, deep blue, almost black, lapping at the feet of the dark, stair-cloven cliffs. And far away, the golden waters of the western sea, shimmering in the lowering Sun. This very day, a year ago, everything had looked like this.   
  
Except that today there is no ship in the central pier. The wind carries no trace of the murmur of the Elves that has been so much a part of his memory of that day. There is no Gandalf, standing beside Shadowfax, looking down upon him with gentleness in his eyes. There is no Bilbo, a dreamy smile on his face as he waved from the walkway.  
  
And there is no Frodo.  
  
Merry gazes at the empty harbor. A year ago today. Has it been that long? Why does the wound in his heart bleed still at the sight of the abandoned haven? Twelve months have passed and the pain has yet to abate. The longing only gets stronger.  
  
His feet falter on the leaf-strewn stone path. A year ago today. If he had not come, would the wound hurt this much today? If he had not seen Frodo walk up to Bilbo, take the old hobbit's hand in his, lean in and whisper something and smile while Bilbo laughed; if he had not memorized all those moments and relived them in his dreams, would the tears that suddenly sting his eyes return and remind him how cold his cheeks felt when the wind brushed past and his face was no longer pressed against the warmth of Frodo's lips?  
  
If he had not loved Frodo's tales and songs so much in Brandy Hall, if he had not loved Frodo's parties and camping trips so much when he was older and could visit his cousin in Hobbiton, if he had not loved Frodo more after knowing his sacrifice, if he had not loved Frodo even more when they returned to a Shire so changed it was no longer a home for Frodo… If he had not loved, did not love Frodo, would the longing hurt this much?  
  
Merry wipes the tears from his eyes and walk down the steps toward the quay. Then suddenly he stops, gasps, turns a shade paler and blinks.   
  
He runs, nearly stumbling, down the steps and along the quay, holding his breath, trying not call out loud for fear that the vision will vanish, leaving him torn with even more sorrow. But the figure at the pier turns his head even as Merry is rushing toward it.  
  
"Merry!"   
  
That voice, that face, stops him in his stride and Merry feels like laughing and weeping at the same time. A wide void opens in his heart and his former exhilaration and absurd hopes tumble down the dark abyss, leaving him feeling weak and empty. "Pip," he acknowledges with a heavy sigh.   
  
Pippin chuckles as he swings his leg over the edge of the pier and looks at Merry. "I almost thought you were Frodo," he says.   
  
_And I should have known that even at his best, Frodo would not have looked as broad, as tall as that Ent-draught-laced hobbit sitting cross-legged now, holding his pipe in one hand, on the dusty stone pier_, a voice speaks in Merry's mind. _Nor does his hair look as near to gold as the curls on Pippin's head._   
  
He sits beside Pippin, looking at the gentle ripples on the water below.   
  
"He's not coming back, is he, Merry?" asks Pippin flatly, gazing at the hazy distant sight of the mouth of the firth.   
  
"No." His voice comes out harsh and husky. Merry closes his eyes and clears his throat. "No, I'm afraid he's not, Pip."  
  
"You know, it's strange," says Pippin, brows knit thoughtfully. "A year ago, when Frodo had just left, I worried so much about him."  
  
Merry looks sideways at his cousin. "Did you, Pip?" There is a hint of sarcasm in his voice. _Worried? That's a bit too mild, isn't it?_   
  
"Seven days from then would be the anniversary, remember?" Pippin says quietly, glancing at Merry. "Weathertop."  
  
Merry cannot hide the sudden gasp that suddenly issues from his throat, his head beginning to throb violently. "You don't think he took ill there, do you?" the question is voiced through gritted teeth, Merry's fingers fisting around a fold of his elven-cloak to hide the sudden tremor that runs through his body. "Don't you even dare to think that, Pip, because if he did not find rest there, and be well again…"   
  
He fights against the raging pain in his chest, his throat closing tight to bar the sudden sob that rises alarmingly fast from somewhere deep within him. He shuts his eyes and tries to breathe again. He hears a soft rustling sound and gasps when he feels a strong arm around his shoulder, pressing him to the solid warmth that is Pippin.   
  
"He found it there, Merry; all the respite and healing he needs, he found it." For all the fierce conviction and soothing quality of Pippin's words, Merry cannot help but notice the quiver in his voice. "I know it. That's why I don't worry about him anymore. I know he is happy now."  
  
_How can you be so certain, Pip?_ Merry opens his eyes and stares at his cousin. _Oh, I need that surety, I need it. Thinking that Frodo should leave with no promise of his ever recovering and being free again of the darkness of his past is too painful. _  
  
"How do you know this, Pip?" he asks hoarsely. _Tell me. Put an end to this hurt._  
  
"When Frodo had just left, I used to see him in my dreams, looking the way he always appeared after we came home, when he thought we weren't looking at him. Sad, rather lost, confused, and in pain," Pippin says softly. Merry's breath comes in a long, hissing sound and Pippin strokes his arm gently. "But lately whenever I dream of him, I always see him as Frodo before all of this began. I dreamed about that day when I got lost in the fair and he found me. He laughed in my dream, Merry, and somehow I knew that wherever he is now, his laughter is like that: free and happy. I dreamed about that time when he came to the Smials on my birthday and we danced, and I knew that he is no longer in pain and he can dance now, as heartily as he did with me. I dreamed about that night when we were camping in the summer and he sang that bit of elvish song Bilbo taught him. Do you remember, Merry?"  
  
_Stars above us; cool, springy grass under our blankets; burning wood chuckling in the fire; Frodo's voice, deep, soft and warm singing those elvish words that were music in themselves, how can I forget that, Pip? "That's beautiful, Frodo. What is it about?" you murmured sleepily. "It's the song of the High Elves, Pip," answered Frodo. "I know little of their language and so did Bilbo. But he told me the meaning of the first lines; they were easy enough he said. 'There is longing in the sea…'"_  
  
Pippin holds his cousin close, burying his own silent tears in Merry's curls, as Merry's sobs break against his shoulder.   
  
The water slaps and hisses at the base of the stone pier. A gull wails in the distance. A strong gust of wind lifts the dry leaves from their resting places and sends them rolling and dragging in the dust.   
  
Pippin lets out a short, breathless chuckle as he breaks away from Merry and wipes his face on his sleeve. "Do you remember that time when Lobelia came to finalize the deal on the sale of Bag End?"  
  
Merry nods, not yet trusting his voice.   
  
"He was ever so polite, our Frodo was, offering to pour Lobelia her drink from the side table, talking haughtily all the while about some hobbits who claimed themselves gentry while not being able to appreciate good wine when they found it," Pippin chuckles, his eyes taking the far away look of fond reminiscence.  
  
Merry snorts and shakes his head. "And of course Lobelia had to pretend that that awful stuff Frodo gave her was simply the smoothest, richest red wine she'd ever drunk. She wouldn't dream of coming across as less than an expert judge on wine, would she? I don't know how Frodo kept that bland, rather bored look on his face when I nearly burst trying not to laugh at Lobelia's expression. That grimace of hers, do you remember that?" Merry contorts his face into a violent expression of pain and disgust, crossing his eyes and blinking rapidly.  
  
Pippin laughs aloud. "Yes! Oh, yes! And that night, at dinner, when you served him peas, he imitated that grimace, _perfectly_, down to the last curl of lips."  
  
Merry's laugh rings out and echoes in the empty harbor. "Yes. And do you remember how he tricked Sandyman into believing that he was going to dig up some of Bilbo's treasure…"  
  
"No," says Pippin with a frown. "I don't remember that. When did that happen?"  
  
"Oh, a few years ago. I must have just come of age and I was staying with Frodo for a while. I think Sandyman must have started to work with the S.-B.'s then and he did his job very thoroughly, spying on Frodo to the point that Frodo was aware he was being watched. So one night, when Frodo was certain Sandyman was within earshot, he told me and Sam that he was going to dig up a bit of Bilbo's treasure from its secret burial site."  
  
"But I thought…" Pippin interrupts.  
  
"No, no, listen," says Merry, smiling broadly. "So the next day Frodo, Sam and I went very early, trying to appear as though we did not want anyone to know where we were heading. But Frodo made sure Sandyman and Lotho himself were following us. Frodo took us on trip up and down the hills. When we got tired we rested by a creek and waded and splashed a bit before moving on, shushing and sternly reminding each other to be stealthy …"  
  
The smile widens on Pippin's face as he begins to see what lay behind Frodo's scheme. "We trudged through the woods, across boggy lowland, then up another hill where we had lunch and took a nap," Merry drones on.  
  
Pippin snickers. "I can imagine what Sandyman must have said in his hiding place: 'Come on, you lazy hobbits. Move along now, move along!'"   
  
Merry laughs. "Ah. Can you imagine what he might say when at the end of the long march, we went around Farmer Westhill's farm and stopped in the open field where there was no place to hide save for the muck heaps behind the barn? And after all the trouble all he saw us dig were wild lilies."  
  
"Oh! Wild lilies!" groans Pippin before letting loose a torrent of laughter. "Oh, that wicked Baggins!"  
  
"He was merciless on them, believe me," Merry continues. "He kept me and Sam walking for the best part of the afternoon, hiding in corn fields, climbing trees and watching those two looking for us…"  
  
"Poor Sandyman!" chortles Pippin.   
  
"And by the end of the day Frodo led us through a shortcut and we were back in Bywater, only a few hundred yards or so from the road up to Hobbiton," Merry says. "Of course we did not go straight home. We stopped by the Green Dragon and who happened to be coming in as we finished dinner there? Sandyman, and Lotho, looking a little subdued, I must say, and a great deal scratched, muddy and unhappy."  
  
Pippin collapses on his back and howls his laughter to the sky.  
  
"Oh," he gasps as he tries to sit up. "Oh. Those Elves. They didn't know what they were doing when they let Frodo sail to stay with them. Oh." He sinks back, beating the dusty stone helplessly as laughter shakes his entire body.  
  
"Yes, Pip," Merry smiles. "I fear for those Elves."  
  
Pippin wipes his eyes and sits up, still chuckling. Then a sudden gloom flashes across his face and he sighs, looking down at his swinging feet. "Maybe," he begins with a half-hearted attempt at mirth, "if he keeps those elves mad with his antics, they will send him home." Merry stares at him, alarmed by the hollowness in Pippin's voice.   
  
Pippin shakes his head and looks wistfully at the glimpse of open sea beyond. He rummages in his coat pocket and produces a small leather pouch.   
  
"This," he informs Merry, "is what I'm here for." He unties the pouch string and shakes out a handful of fine pipeweed; dark and sweet-smelling.   
  
He kisses the leaf softly, crushes it in his palm and throws the shreds into the sparkling water.   
  
Merry watches him, even as Pippin raises his iridescent green-gold eyes with a look that dares Merry to laugh at this unexpected gesture. Merry sighs and reaches into his pocket.   
  
"And I have these," he says to Pippin, showing a handkerchief-wrapped pile of rather wilted mushrooms that looks like a heap of light brown lace. "Frodo's favorite." Merry shrugs, unable to say more. He raises the mushrooms to his lips, then in a gesture that mirrors that of Pippin's, casts them into the waters.  
  
They watch as the gentle wave buoys the mushroom, dampened and darkened, drifting beside the black specks that are the bits of pipeweed.  
  
"There you go, Frodo," whispers Pippin. "I hope they find their way to you. A bit of the Shire, and us."  
  
He begins to sob softly even as he says the words and Merry gathers him gently into his arms, rubbing his cousin's back comfortingly.   
  
"Sometimes I think about that ship that Legolas said he was going to make someday," whispers Pippin against. "Do you think maybe we could…"  
  
"Maybe, my love, maybe," says Merry, feeling the sharp tingling of tears in his own eyes. "Although I don't see why we should leave the Shire for that stubborn, stodgy cousin of ours…"  
  
"Merry!" Pippin's snort still sounds pitifully close to a sob. "You never said anything like that when we made that conspiracy to go with Frodo."  
  
"Ah, but Pip, you forgot that it was a very important journey he was going to make, and he needed us or he would fall to pieces before he even reached Bree."  
  
A bubble of chuckles ripples up Pippin's chest and warms Merry's shoulder.   
  
"In fact, it's very selfish of him to leave us with all the repairs that need done after the ruffians while he goes to stay with the elves, don't you think?" Merry speaks gently against Pippin's curls. "Always one to think of his own pleasure, our cousin."  
  
Pippin buries his face even deeper into Merry's cloak. "I still miss him though, Merry," he murmurs.   
  
Merry closes his eyes and holds Pippin closer. "As do I, Pip," he says softly. "There's none like him and we are lucky to have known him and love him."  
  
The Sun is lower in the sky when they finally let go of each other and make toward the havens gate. The sea still sighs and murmurs gently behind them, the water restless and furrowed by countless waves. Near the foot of the central stone pier a single leaf floats on the gleaming sapphire surface; the golden autumn leaf of a mallorn tree.  
  
_fin_


End file.
